Topics About Which I Know Nothing - Patrick Ness

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your daughter, no matter how young, the service of being able to face the world with one more resource?’

      ‘Anything to help me sleep at night, is that right?’

      ‘That’s right, madam. Couldn’t have said it better myself.’

      5

      ‘So what exactly is at the end of the hall?’ says Tammy.

      We’re eating our lunches. The company doesn’t have a canteen, so we have to eat at our desks. I have a cheddar and ham sandwich that I make five of on a Sunday. By the smell of it, Maryam from Africa has a cold curry. Percy seems to have just pickles. His wife sometimes forgets to go shopping, he says. Tammy has gone outside to the sandwich shop down on the corner and got herself some kind of leafy salad and a fruit drink. We spend all our mornings talking on the phone, so lunch is usually a quiet affair. Not for Tammy, apparently.

      ‘It is what the boss says it is,’ I say.

      ‘All he said is that only people who don’t meet quota know what it is,’ says Tammy.

      ‘Exactly,’ I say.

      ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ she says.

      ‘It is what it is,’ says Percy, who has to steady himself with one hand when he looks up to say this.

      ‘Is it metaphorical, like?’ asks Tammy.

      ‘No, it’s just down that way,’ says Percy. He jerks his thumb in the right direction.

      ‘I mean,’ says Tammy, openly laughing at Percy, ‘that it’s just words the boss uses to motivate us. Implied violence. Like in our sales pitch.’

      ‘No,’ I say, ‘it really is just down that way.’

      ‘But that doesn’t—’

      ‘You meet your quota, then you never find out,’ interrupts Maryam from Africa. Her accent is a hell of a thing, foreign and stern, like being shouted at by a vampire maid. ‘Can we eat in silence, please? I hear enough chitter chatter all day long without having my digestion interrupted by nonsense of this sort.’

      6

      The self-defence classes we sell have no connection with this company. We’re just the telesales firm that the self-defence people hired to push their product. I’ve never been to a class. I’ve never even seen a brochure. Neither have Maryam from Africa or Percy for all I know. So far, Tammy hasn’t asked, and I’ll bet it’s the sort of thing she would ask about, so I’m guessing that maybe she’s seen a brochure or been to a class. It would figure.

      7

      ‘Should we invite her to the pub?’ says Percy.

      ‘Who?’ I ask, though who else could he be talking about?

      ‘Tammy.’

      ‘Good God, no,’ whispers Maryam from Africa.

      ‘It’s rude not to,’ says Percy.

      ‘It’s rude to ask questions all day,’ says Maryam. ‘If you invite her, I’m not coming.’

      ‘You never come,’ says Percy.

      ‘I might today, if you don’t invite her.’

      We prepare ourselves for an awkward moment when the day ends, but Tammy just bags up the jumper she’s slung over the back of her chair, waves bye, and leaves.

      ‘The cheek,’ says Maryam.

      8

      I bring two pints of bitter and one pint of lager to the table. The lager is for Maryam from Africa. It seems surprising that she drinks lager, but I suppose there’s no reason she shouldn’t. I get the drinks every night, even when it’s just me and Percy, because Percy can’t be trusted to carry anything. He’s all right once he’s standing or once he’s sitting; it’s the in-between that’s tricky, and that includes leaning. The management of the Cock & Cloisters have even barred him from handling small glasses of spirits.

      ‘Cheers, mate,’ says Percy. Maryam from Africa nods a thank you. Percy and I each take a swig from our bitters. Maryam downs half of her pint in one long, graceful draught. It’s almost beautiful. She dabs her lip with a serviette and says, ‘I don’t like this new girl.’

      ‘Me neither,’ I say.

      ‘She’s not so bad,’ says Percy.

      ‘You say that about everyone,’ I say.

      ‘You say the boss isn’t so bad,’ says Maryam.

      ‘He isn’t,’ says Percy.

      Maryam looks at me with eyebrows that say ‘point proven’.

      ‘And what kind of a name is Tammy for a grown woman?’ she says.

      ‘I reckon it’s American,’ I say, ‘but she doesn’t sound American.’

      ‘It’s South African,’ says Percy. ‘Short for Tamara.’

      We stare at him.

      ‘How d’you know that?’ asks Maryam.

      ‘I asked,’ says Percy.

      ‘When?’ I say.

      ‘On the afternoon break,’ he says. ‘You were in the loo. Maryam was on the phone to her mum. It was just me and Tammy, so I asked. Polite conversation.’

      Maryam hmphs again.

      ‘Hi everyone,’ says Tammy, suddenly appearing at our table from the cigarette haze of the pub.

      ‘You left before we could ask you along,’ says Percy, fast, before the rest of us even take in who Tammy is.

      ‘That’s all right,’ says Tammy. ‘I’d agreed to meet the boss here anyway.’ She points towards the bar, and sure enough, there’s the boss holding what looks like a pint of Guinness and a G & T. Maryam from Africa sighs and starts scooting over to make room for Tammy and the boss.

      ‘No need,’ says Tammy. ‘We’re sitting over there with some of the workers from the other rooms. What am I saying? I’m sure you know them better than I do.’

      We all look to the corner she’s pointing at. From the silence, I gather I’m not the only one who doesn’t recognise anyone.

      ‘Every room is kind of its own little world,’ says Percy.

      ‘Of three people?’ says Tammy hysterically. Is she on drugs that she’s this upbeat? ‘Awfully small world, if you ask me.’ She punches Percy playfully on the shoulder. He falls off his chair to the green, sticky carpet. ‘Oh my God,’ says Tammy. ‘I’m so sorry.’

      ‘Nothing to worry about,’ says Percy, helping himself back up. ‘You weren’t to know.’

      We all hear the boss say Tammy’s name across the pub. He still has the drinks. He sees us, but he doesn’t come over. That’s the way everyone wants it.

      ‘Gotta go,’ says Tammy. ‘See you all tomorrow.’

      ‘I hope she doesn’t have any problem meeting her quota,’ says Percy, watching the back of Tammy move away from us.

      ‘She won’t,’ says Maryam from Africa. ‘Probably get the quota raised, her.’

      ‘And you’re married, Perce,’ I say.

      ‘It doesn’t mean my eye is wandering if I hope that someone doesn’t get sent to the end of the hall,’ he says.

      ‘Never gonna happen,’ says Maryam, before

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